Tuesday, February 24, 2015

In the bleeding berries on the nettle-hillwhere pond was a ruse for calmI gave voiceto what deadened the field what ended its greensaid the word assault, prettier than r____.

Violets whitened.The thing shrank from its essence.

The words took breath to say this pushing air away(as though to dislodge it from the skin to dislodge his breath from your face his voicefrom your ear as though to remove space as though to accord you your own space)

Breath lost in one swift pull of winter.

After I said what I said said the wordassault was prettier. Assault was lessinvasive. R____ would mean admission and surrender.

Saturday, February 21, 2015

the mud it eatsand in the middle of summer’s wrap winter’s grave stillcradles the seed in a coffin

so distant the return of image from the mirror all paced out and certain in its placement settingso much like midnightcrows awatch from the tree that edgesthe woods light a star-pointed reflection in their eyes